At Sea

I am ancient and know a time
when my thoughts were deep as half-evaporated puddles
it was then that I dreamt of tall ships’ sails and plunging submarines
No one taught me to trust what I couldn’t see
so I’d wake and curse the wetness of my cheeks, losing
a night’s wisdom,
spindrift kept suspended in the vacuum of sleep
where a pendulum couldn’t quiver
and I could never come back

I fit then among my world, a buoy in the sea spray
bobbing atop depths, descending only in death, with
pink and white roots like tendrils swirling below
I see them now and wonder how I’ll grow with no dirty earth to dig into
so far away from the fiction of my former self

Let me build a staircase in the meadow of your mindset
to climb and take the long view, Tell me a story that ends at the crest
of that ascent
Is the language of what I’d see one with tunnels, like this one
where every syllable connects meaning to understanding, and understanding to action
Or do you dream in colors, sounds, sharp angles and soft edges?
Have the sails of your ships amassed tatters or do they shine?
Would I recognize them? Could I recognize me, there?

Awake now, I know better than
to denote any one thing with what I can touch alone
or seek to grow only from the ground
I know I am older than the waters who surround me
and smaller than what they hold
I am finite and my actions vacuous
Once constricted by shortsighted youth but soaking now in
a mottled economy void of currency or wares
Where I barter with my own dirty roots to decipher
Where and why I’ve grown
Where and in what direction I intend to go and
Where I come to know that this place is hardly a noun,
and I am imagination and ether, the frequency of home

One thought on “At Sea

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